Intercepted
by crazyundeadfairy
Summary: The Doctor finds Jack a little sooner than expected. written before series 3 aired This is a slash story so be warned.


**Intercepted**

Jack is dead. His skin is grey and cold and no matter how hard she tries she can't coax any sign of life out of any of the sensors. Still, she's prepared to wait as long as it takes because Jack will wake up. It might take awhile, but she knows Jack'll wake up. She simply has to wait. All Jack needs is some time to rest and he'll recover. She's already seen him survive so much and can't bear the thought of really losing him. It just can't happen.

"Please wake up," Gwen pleads, sliding her fingers through Jack's dark hair. Everything in the room is too white, too bright. So much that it nearly hurts her eyes to spend so much time in the room. But she can't leave Jack. Not when there's still a chance that he could live. "Please come back."

Gwen feels the sudden breeze before she hears the sound. A strange, airy grinding noise that doesn't sound like anything she's ever heard before. And then, not three meters past where Jack lays, a blue phone box begins to fade in and out of focus before finally becoming solid. A blue police box that is the stuff of legends and quite a few of Torchwood's security protocols.

The doors are thrown open with such haste that it surprises her when the man inside doesn't burst out. Instead he stands just inside the doorway, staring at Jack with wide eyes. Gwen is fairly certain that the man—Jack's Doctor?—hasn't even noticed her as he sets one foot outside of the police box.

"Jack?"

The word sounds as though it has been wrenched from his gut. He staggers forward, catching himself after a moment and crosses the final distance with sure, if somewhat cautious, steps. And, nervous as he makes her, when Gwen catches sight of his eyes there is nothing that will make her stop him as he reaches a hand towards Jack. Just his fingertips, gentle as could be, brushing against Jack's pallid cheek before sliding up into his rumpled hair.

"Who are you?" Gwen asks, the sound of her voice startling the man somewhat. His entire body, with the exception of his right arm, jerks slightly. His right hand is still lightly touching Jack's face.

"Doesn't matter," he says quietly, his eyes never straying from Jack. "I'm just here to collect something I lost."

Before Gwen can even begin to process his words, the man slips his left arm under Jack's shoulders and raises his upper body from the table. Immediately, Jack's head flops back, but with the utmost care is lifted back to rest against the man's shoulder. For a moment longer than is necessary, he keeps his hand cupped around the back of Jack's head. There is no denying that the two men have an intimate history.

It is only when he begins to wiggle his right arm under Jack's legs that she puts out a hand to stop him. She places her hand on Jack's chest, not exerting any real force for fear of hurting Jack, but stopping the man for a moment.

"Please, you can't take him," she whispers, staring into the impossibly dark eyes of the Hub's intruder. "Help him if you can, but please leave him here."

For a brief moment he seems to hesitate, his brows furrowing as he stares intently at her. It lasts a few seconds only and then he shakes his head. "I can't do that. I lost track of him once and I don't intend to do it again."

"But you can't take him."

Unthreatening as the man in the brown pinstripe suit appears, there is no mistaking the dark and somewhat frightening look in his eyes. And though he has no weapon that she can see, Gwen knows instinctively that he would be a dangerous man to cross.

"Gwen!"

"Has something happened?"

"Gwen!"

She glances away for only a second, not even that long, but when she looks back to where the man had been standing, he's no longer there. He's standing just inside the doors of the phone booth, Jack's body cradled tenderly against his chest. Physically the man seems smaller than Jack, but right then Gwen can only see the affection between them. Even with Jack unconscious and possibly dead she can't deny the rightness of Jack being with him.

"He's not meant for your time," was all that he says before the doors swing shut of their own accord.

The strange sound begins again and before Gwen can even get around the table the police box is already fading from sight.

* * *

It's pure chance that has led him back to Jack. Happenstance, really, because he hasn't been looking for the man. In fact, until recently he's been fairly certain that Jack died that horrible day on board Satellite Five. He'd heard Jack die mere seconds before Rose had returned with the TARDIS. A minute sooner and Jack would've lived. There isn't much in his long life that he truly regrets, but left alone with his thoughts he allows things to play out differently. In those desperate fantasies, Rose comes back before he hears the frightful, "Exterminate!" and he shouts for Jack to come to the control room. Everything else plays out as it should, but when the TARDIS leaves the Game Station all three of them are on board. As it should have been. And, apparently, as it could have been.

It's something he only ever put down to wishful thinking until he'd landed in that field outside Cardiff and saw Jack's life being sucked from his body. Jack's scream had frozen him, made his steps falter and before he could move again it had all been over. Jack collapsed backwards, his body still as death. He'd been too late again and could only watch as the woman he'd meet later in the Torchwood morgue stood watch over Jack's body until others came to collect him.

It puzzled him why Jack's second death affected him so much when he'd already said goodbye to the captain. Not long after his regeneration he'd found Jack's RAF uniform, folded it neatly, then placed it in a chest in his own rarely used bedroom. Next to it is an older model of Rose's jiggery-poked cell phone.

Two days after the Rift had been opened and resealed, he was still in Cardiff. Officially, had there been a traveling companion nearby to ask the question, he'd have said that he was making sure the Rift was stable. And while he did do just that, he was also keeping his scanners alert for any sign of Jack's bio-signature.

That tiny shred of hope he almost never acknowledges has been vindicated. Jack is still alive, albeit on a minute cellular level. But now, deep within the TARDIS, that small speck of life continues to grow and expand. Only minutes after he'd spirited Jack away from that all too depressing morgue, the man's heart had sluggishly started to beat again. It's now simply a matter of waiting and with the TARDIS floating about in the Time Vortex Jack has all the time he needs.

* * *

He wants to scream, but in the end has barely enough strength to draw air into his lungs. His chest feels as though there's a heavy weight crushing it while his limbs all feel numb. It is all that he can do to keep drawing air into his lungs. With all of this it takes him a moment to recognize the familiar hum that surrounds him.

The TARDIS.

After so long he's finally back on the TARDIS, back with the Doctor. He doesn't know how it had happened, but for the moment he's simply relieved. Grateful, even. And since he doesn't have the energy to do anything else at the moment, Jack lets himself slip under once again.

The next time he feels the world returning to him it isn't so much a shock. He still feels like he should be dead, but his innards no longer feel as though they are being compressed. He can feel his extremities this time as well.

When he cracks his eyes open, Jack is shocked to see where he is. After so much time he would have thought it impossible to be back in his own bedroom in the TARDIS. There have been rumors of so many different companions over the years and even though the ship is bigger on the inside than the outside there should only have been so much room. But it's still his room. The furniture is all the same and even the book he'd last been reading is sitting near his head on the nightstand.

And though there was a long period of time where he'd hated the Doctor, in that moment Jack can only bask in the comforting feeling of being back on the TARDIS. He'd been on board just a few months before that fateful trip to Satellite Five, but in that time it had become a home of sorts. More of a home than any place he can remember in his too long life.

When the door opens, Jack turns towards it expecting to see the Doctor. Instead there's a slender man in a tailored dark brown pinstripe suit with a lot of hair. Not a bad sight, to be sure, but not his Doctor. More than likely this is his replacement, the Doctor's latest companion. In the garbled records of the Canary Wharf incident at Torchwood One there was mention of a young man in a suit. If nothing else this man might be able to tell him if Rose is really dead.

"Who're you?" Jack demands, his voice a pathetic sounding croak.

Hands shoved deep into his pockets, the man takes a few steps into the room. "I'm the Doctor."

"You're not the Doctor."

"Oh, but I am," he insists as he strolls further into the room, coming to a stop right next to Jack. "There were some complications on Satellite Five and I died. I thought you had too until a few days ago when I saw you force-feeding your lifeforce into Abaddon and closing the Rift. Pretty impressive for a stupid ape."

Jack can only stare at the man claiming to be the Doctor. The words he's speaking could very well have belonged to the Doctor, but coming from the mouth of a noticeably younger man who doesn't have a northern accent it just sounds strange. It isn't his Doctor.

"The last thing you said to Rose was that she was worth fighting for. Then you said you wished you'd never met me because you were better off a coward."

Jack remembers that moment well; the last time he'd seen the Doctor and Rose. He truly hadn't expected to see either of them again. And now here's a man repeating a conversation only three people had heard.

"How can you be the Doctor?"

The smile he is treated to was a very wide, boyish one. "Little trick us Time Lords have to keep from dying. I regenerated. Every cell in my body. I'm still the same man, though."

Rationally, Jack knows that the story makes sense. He knows the legends of the Time Lords well enough to understand the idea of regeneration and to believe in the possibility of it. During his forty-seven years with Torchwood he's seen more than a few men who could very well have been the Doctor. Only not his Doctor. Probably earlier regenerations.

"If you're feeling up to it, your clothes are all still in the wardrobe there," the Doctor says, nodding towards the closet on the far side of the room. "Unless you're no longer interested in jeans and t-shirts, then you can go to the wardrobe room."

Jack isn't sure what to make of this new version of the Doctor. Given what he knows of alien races, the fact that this seemingly younger man was an older version of the Doctor is not impossible to believe. What Jack is less willing to believe is that the Doctor has abandoned Rose. Or that he would have let anything happen to her at Canary Wharf.

"Where's Rose?"

* * *

He's known that at some point he will have to answer questions about Rose. The last time he and Jack had crossed paths Rose had been the center of the little trio. And given Jack's position at Torchwood he has to know at least a bit of what had happened at Canary Wharf. More than a bit, probably, and knowing Jack he would've checked for Rose's name on the casualty list. And Jack would have seen her name because he'd made sure that it was there.

"So she really is dead then," Jack murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

Immediately he begins shaking his head. "No. No, no, no, no. Rose is very much alive. Just… lost."

"Lost how?"

Crossing over to the chair on the far side of the room, he slumps down into it. Rose's fate is something he prefers not to think about. It's proof that there are things out there that not even he can do. Taking a deep breath, he tells Jack about Canary Wharf. Not the official version, but what had actually happened. The truth of it all and how Rose had been the one to save them. She had kept the Rift open at the cost of her own life. It was only chance that had kept her safe.

"So she's still alive? Still safe?" Jack presses once he finishes his story.

"She is. She's with her mum and Mickey and even her dad if you can believe it."

Jack looks noticeably relieved to hear that Rose is still alive. He can't deny the affection that had existed between Jack and Rose. Between all of them, really. Though they had been together only a few short months on the TARDIS, during that time they had been close. Far closer than he could remember being to anyone in quite a long time. He's always regretted that they'd been separated from Jack after Satellite Five.

Pushing himself up from the chair in a single motion, he meanders towards the door. "I'll leave you to it, then. Get dressed if you want, lounge about some more; we're in no hurry to be anywhere."

Jack grunts something that he can't quite make out, but sounds vaguely affirmative.

Pausing at the door, he turns back towards Jack, a smile curving his lips. "I'm glad to see you again, Jack."

Out in the corridor, he pauses for a moment, breathing deeply. Jack is only the second former companion that he has seen after parting company in his many long years. Seeing Jack again is infinitely different than Sarah Jane's return. He's always assumed that Sarah Jane was safe and getting on with her life; doing great things just as he'd always known she would. He hadn't thought to see Jack again because he'd heard Jack die.

_"Exterminate!"_

"_I kinda figured that." _

In that instant one of his hearts had stopped beating. He'd been fully aware that Jack would more than likely die while trying to slow down the Daleks, but had still allowed himself a tiny bit of unreasonable hope that Jack would somehow survive. It was Rose who'd rekindled that ability in him and while he'd momentarily cursed it when Jack had died, it had been sparked once again when Rose had returned with the TARDIS.

But with the knowledge that Jack is alive comes the realization that he had abandoned Jack on Satellite Five. He should have gone back for him, to retrieve his body if nothing else, but he hadn't. Instead he and Rose had carried on with their adventures as though Jack had never existed. He has no idea what Jack has been through since then or how he had gotten to 2006 Cardiff, but provided Jack chooses to stay aboard he will eventually find out.

* * *

It's strange being back in his old clothes. Decades have passed since he's last worn the simplistic Levis and Hanes combination, but they still fit as well as they had then. It is odd being able to fit into clothes that he hasn't worn in several decades. Stomping into a pair of boots, Jack runs his fingers through his hair then leaves his bedroom. He has to shake his head at how easily he has once again started to think of it as his bedroom. For so long he'd felt betrayed for having been left behind on Satellite Five, but right away he is thinking of it as home again.

Jack's surprised by how calm he is around the Doctor when for years he'd been unable to think of the man without feeling angry. In some of his darker moments he had planned out exactly what he would do to the Doctor if their paths ever crossed again and none of it was good. Jack can summon up none of that rage now. Perhaps it's the TARDIS' soothing presence, but he's glad he no longer feels that anger.

As he wanders down the corridor towards the console room, Jack trails the fingers of his right hand along the wall. So many times he's walked the exact same path, humming quietly in tune with the TARDIS' own melody.

Rather than head directly to the console room, Jack follows the seemingly endless corridors of the TARDIS along whatever course she sets out for him. He knows that the ship's telepathic and that the interior can shift about on a whim. Sensing his mood, the TARDIS leads him on a long, winding path deep within her endless passageways.

Rationally, Jack has always known that there were things that happened on Satellite Five during the time he can't remember that caused him to be left behind. Rationality, however, doesn't erase the effects of being left alone on a dead satellite station above a devastated earth thousands of years in the future. For nearly an entire day he'd worked on trying to find a way off the satellite while still holding out hope that the Doctor would come back for him. He had a time machine, it wouldn't be too difficult to arrange. But he hadn't come back and Jack had been left to fend for himself when the world below him was barely clinging on.

In the years that have passed since then Jack has done his best not to think about those months he'd spent trying to get back to a more familiar time. He'd nearly killed himself in a way he thinks may have been permanent trying to get back to the twenty-first century; the ship he'd scavenged together nearly bursting apart at the seams during its only journey. He'd missed the aimed for date by a century and had spent a hundred years waiting in and around Cardiff knowing that the Doctor would show up eventually to refuel the TARDIS. He needed to know what had happened to him. How he hadn't died on the Game Station. Why he had been left behind. Why he couldn't seem to stay dead when something happened to kill him.

To be truly honest, he's simply tired. Not because of things that have happened recently; those are barely a drop in all the time he's lived. Even though it has been several lifetimes and a few missing years, he can still remember being a small boy and wishing that he could live forever. It's like so many other things he had wanted and hoped for as a boy. Everything seemed like a good idea during childhood. But after living and, especially, dying so many times it is difficult to feel anything other than overly exhausted. He wants nothing more than for it to finally just be over the next time he dies. Jack has no intention of purposely searching out that end, but when it does come he will welcome the chance to finally rest.

It is a surprise, really, when he turns a corner and found himself standing at the entrance of the console room.

"I forgot to say it earlier," the Doctor says, glancing up from whatever bit of wiring he's fiddling with. He smiles fondly at him and steps around the console, closing the space between them so that only a few feet separate them.

"Welcome home, Jack."

Before Jack can even think of making any kind of response, the Doctor has his face clasped between deceptively strong hands and draws him close for a kiss. A kiss that lasts only a few moments and puts Jack in mind of the last kiss they'd shared. Like that day on the Game Station there is a hint of desperation about it. The difference is that this time there is time to linger. And though the man he's kissing looks completely different, there is something familiar about the kiss. It's as the Doctor had said; he'd come home.

"You look terrible," the Doctor adds as he back away a few steps. "Really should be back in bed. I had a bad regeneration myself the last time around. Tried to crash the TARDIS and nearly slept through the whole Sycorax invasion. Everything got sorted in the end, though. Just needed some rest and a good cup of tea. You could probably do with the same."

The Doctor certainly talks more than he remembers. It's quite a change from the Doctor he knew. And though he appears boyish and almost carefree, Jack can still see the pain that lingered within the old Doctor. It's hidden deep in his eyes, but Jack knows where to look. Losing Rose seems to have only added to that soul-deep agony. It's strange seeing traces of someone he once knew so well in a body that he doesn't.

"The TARDIS must've caught scent of you when I was setting the course for Cardiff—a decade or so from now, mind you—and altered the arrival date," the Doctor says after a moment. "She hates it when I'm alone too long. And she's always been quite fond of you. Rarely lets anyone else muck about with her insides. If things hadn't gone bad on the Game Station I doubt she'd have let us leave without you. But her first priority is to keep me safe... and I was dying."

Jack has spent years convincing himself that he wasn't left behind on purpose, but it's still a relief to hear the words. When he'd seen the TARDIS disappearing before his eyes he could have sworn that his heart had been ripped from his chest. His home and the people he'd loved had left him behind. Only now he knows that he hadn't been forgotten.

Jack leans back against one of the rails surrounding the console, scrubbing his hands over his face. The Doctor joins him, leaning back so they're resting shoulder to shoulder. After removing his hands from the pockets of his pants, the Doctor's hands grip the rail and for a brief moment a few of his fingers overlap with Jack's. There's something incredibly tentative about the way the Doctor touches him, nothing like his predecessor who rarely cared about what others thought of his actions. After the fingers had retreated to their own part of the rail, Jack slides his own hand across the small distance, purposely winding his fingers around the Doctor's. It's almost a surprise when the Doctor squeezes his fingers in return.

"How did I end up back here on the TARDIS?"

The Doctor releases a loud breath that forces his lips outwards. "Well… in the strictest sense of things I kidnapped you. Or at least that's what the girl in the morgue—who I must say looks quite similar to a girl Rose and I met in 1860's Cardiff—will think seeing as I more or less burst in, scooped you up and disappeared back into the TARDIS. If it wasn't for the TARDIS insisting that you were still alive I would have thought you dead. Again. Nearly stopped both my hearts when I heard you screaming and saw what that thing was doing to you. How is it that Abaddon didn't kill you? You shouldn't have even had time to scream before it killed you, but from what I saw you hung on for quite a bit. Too long for Abaddon."

Bowing his head slightly, Jack levers himself away from the rail and takes a few steps towards the console. This moment has been one of the main reasons he has searched so long for the Doctor, but now that it's come, he can't face the other man. He can barely even speak the words.

"I can't die."

When there is no immediately response from the Doctor he glances over his shoulder at the other man. The Doctor is staring at him, looking utterly gobsmacked; an expression that he can't remember ever seeing on the other Doctor. But then this one has such an expressive face.

"Can't die?" the Doctor echoes and between the space of one breath and the next is standing beside him. "But you're human. Humans die. Even in the 51st century humans die. How long has it been since we last met? For you?"

Turning so that he is facing the Doctor completely, Jack leans his hip against the console, arms crossed over his chest. "Well over a century now."

The Doctor's hands are on his face, fingers spread wide over his cheeks and thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. "Why did I never think? Why did I never check? 'I bring life,' she says, the entire vortex thrumming through her head, and I don't even think that something could have happened…."

* * *

For all his centuries' worth of knowledge, this latest version of himself certainly has no common sense. The extent of his regeneration sickness should have been a massive clue-in to the fact that something had gone wrong on Satellite Five. At the very least he should have gone back for Jack's body. Jack deserved better than to be left rotting on a dead satellite.

Reaching out tentatively, he gently brushes against the edges of Jack's mind. He waits for an acknowledgement from Jack before easing past surface memories, searching out events nearly two hundred thousand years in the future. In that space, where memories should reside, there is only a void. A space where there are no memories because there is a complete absence of life. For those few horrible minutes Jack was dead. From the moment the Daleks had shot him until the Bad Wolf had brought him back, Jack was dead.

_Kneeling down before a pile of dust where he remembered a Dalek, Jack trailed his fingers through the fine powder. He was the one who was supposed to be dead. He'd been out of ammunition and there was nowhere to run that wouldn't lead the Daleks right to the Doctor._

_The sound of the time rotor starting up brought Jack out of his musings. Scrambling to his feet, he sprinted towards the control room. The Doctor couldn't be leaving him. The Doctor wouldn't abandon him. Not after everything. Not after—_

_Jack staggered to a halt as he burst into the control room. The TARDIS was disappearing right before his eyes. The Doctor, his home, it was fading right before his eyes. A minute sooner and he could have been on board._

_But why hadn't the Doctor come for him?_

_Why had he been left behind?_

_Why wasn't he dead?_

_Stumbling backwards a few steps, Jack knocked his hip against one of the consoles and lost his footing. Unable to keep his balance he tumbled onto the floor, landing hard on the floor. His eyes never strayed from the place where the TARDIS had been._

"_Come back..."_

The anguished plea echoing in his mind tears strips in his already flayed soul. Circumstance has taken Rose from him, but to know that he unwittingly abandoned Jack so far from home is infinitely worse.

"By all the... Jack, I'm so sorry," he gasps out, one hand sliding across Jack's shoulders while the other cups the back of his head. He pulls Jack to him, holding him tight as can be. He's relieved when Jack winds his arms around him and holds on just as tight. "If I'd had one inkling—even the slightest hint—that you were still alive I wouldn't have left. The TARDIS should've been screaming at me to wait for you. It's my fault. She brought you back because of me and didn't even give me any warning. Just let me swan off and leave you alone for... a century was it?"

When they loosen their hold on each other, Jack's hand comes up to hold his cheek and he doesn't resist as Jack pulls him in for a kiss. It's Jack, after all, and even if he wanted to he couldn't deny Jack. So he returns the kiss with just as much desperation as the other man. And even though they're two separate bodies they wind themselves so tightly around one another and he's pretty sure every inch of them is touching. And if it's not, a few strategic nudges will do the trick.

He doesn't get the chance to do any nudging because, sudden immortality or no, Jack is still human and needs to breathe. The younger man stays pressed against him, breath panting against his cheek. Jack's breath is superheated, damp and humid, and so very much alive. He's always feared going back to Satellite Five to collect Jack's body because he can't bear to see Jack's lifeless body. And with the knowledge that he can always return to a few minutes after his own departure from the satellite he just kept putting it off. Now he wishes desperately that he had gone back.

"I think this is the first proper kiss I've had in this body," he murmurs as his fingers toy absently with the strands of hair at the base of Jack's skull. "Rather, the first kiss I've received when the other person wasn't possessed or from someone I wasn't an imaginary friend to. Only had one the last time around and that was to save Rose's life... Well, there was the one from you, but I warrant you'd give the same one to your granny after stopping over for a cup of tea. Hardly worth writing home about."

Jack chuckles quietly, tilting his head back slightly so that their eyes meet. "I'm doing my best not to be insulted, Doc."

"You shouldn't be. That kiss there more than made up for it," he's quick to assure Jack.

Try as he might, he can't make himself let go of Jack. Instead he finds himself trailing his fingers gently across Jack's features. Even though Jack hasn't aged a day since they last saw each other, there's a marked difference in his features. The years are weighing heavily on Jack, his expression no longer as carefree as it had once been. Even when Jack smiles there's a lingering pain in his eyes. Jack has lived so much longer than any human is meant to and has endured more than he can even fathom at the moment. As he presses a kiss to the corner of Jack's mouth, Jack's arms tighten around him and it would feel like he was in a vice were it not for the fact that he was likely holding Jack just as tightly.

* * *

It's strange, when compared to the long years of his life, that a place he spent only a few months in should be his home. But that's what the TARDIS is, home. It's the one place he's ever truly felt like he belonged and though he cares deeply for his team at Torchwood, he's never been able to be quite at ease with them as he was while living here with the Doctor and Rose. They were his family and he'd loved them—still does. Even though the Doctor isn't the same one that he knew, Jack knows that it's still his Doctor.

When the two of them finally untangle themselves, Jack wavers momentarily. He catches himself immediately, but the Doctor still notices and grabs him round the elbows.

"All right, back to bed with you," the Doctor orders as he steers Jack back towards the living quarters. "I keep forgetting that you humans have a tendency to be delicate."

"You do recall that I was dead a few hours ago, don't you?" Jack grumbles as he allows the Doctor to lead him from the console room. "I think that allows me a little loss of equilibrium. Besides, it was only for a second. I'm fine now."

"Like you said, Jack, you were dead. The fact that you're alive and breathing right now means there's a great big stinking pile of wrong going on," the Doctor insists, squeezing Jack briefly. "Not that I'm not thrilled you're still alive, mind you. Best news I've had in quite a long time."

He doesn't need it, but he allows the Doctor to fuss over him. Jack's fairly certain that this time around the Doctor isn't content unless he has someone to fuss over. It's a far change from his previous incarnation when he couldn't even stomach the word "domestic." So he allows himself be stripped down to his boxers and shuffled into bed without complaint, secretly enjoying it. It's been a while since he's had someone to take care of him, longer than he cares to recall.

"You do realize that I'm not tired?" Jack muses, grinning as the Doctor continues to cluck about him like a mother hen. "I've barely been up half an hour."

"And you've been dead for several days," the Doctor reminds him. "Better to be cautious and make sure you don't keel over again."

Jack snorts at that, rolling his eyes. "I wobbled and even that was only minor."

"You can never be too careful."

"You've gotten twitchy this time around. I'm fine, Doctor. Likely just lost my breath after such an outstanding kiss," Jack grins, stretching his fingers out so they brush against the Doctor's pant leg. He's not even sure the Doctor realized he's done it until the other man sits down on the edge of his bed and properly takes hold of his hand.

"We'll figure this out," the Doctor promises him. "I'm not sure what would make it so you can't die, but we'll figure it out."

And even though he doesn't want to, Jack feels himself begin to drift off. And, as he does so, he feels an odd sensation that he hasn't for quite some time. He starts to hope. Jack can't remember the last time he felt hopeful about anything. It's even stranger that it's the Doctor's presence that's making him feel that way. Though he would hardly call the old Doctor a pessimist, he certainly wasn't as content as this version seemed to be. He was so full of energy, rarely able to stand still for a single moment, and he certainly knew how to talk. Yet compared to this one, the Doctor he knew was a mute.

Given the man's seemingly endless energy, it is a surprise when the Doctor stretches out next to him. Left hand behind his head, the Doctor keeps hold of Jack's hand with his free one, twisting their fingers together. The Doctor is still above the blankets, but even so there is an intimacy about it that was odd. Intellectually he understands that he is the same man he'd known a century ago, but it is impossible not to be aware of the differences between the two. He certainly can't envision his Doctor ever wiggling about so casually next to him.

"I'm amazed the TARDIS didn't give you a bigger bed," the Doctor mumbles once he's finished his wiggling. "The old girl loves to spoil my companions and you have always been one of her favourites. Did you never notice the way she practically purred when you'd tinker about with her insides? And she's been finickier than usual since we lost you. Wonder if that was her way of trying to tell me that you were still alive...? The TARDIS may be sentient, but she doesn't exactly have speech capabilities. Couldn't come right out and tell me that we'd left you behind. The only way she had to tell me something wasn't right was to keep throwing us off course. Wrong centuries, wrong continents—one time we even ended up in the wrong dimension—and all because the TARDIS had no other way to let me know that you were still alive."

Jack laughs quietly. "You had those problems before Satellite Five."

"Well, yes..." the Doctor hedges, bobbing his head from side to side. "But where trips to Earth were concerned it was much worse. Just about the only place we could go with any accuracy was to see Rose's mum and now I'm wondering if that wasn't because you were nearby."

This time Jack stays quiet, letting the Doctor ramble on as he would.

* * *

He keeps talking until he was certain that Jack had fallen asleep. Immortality or no, any being would need to rest after all that Jack has been through. He's not exactly tired himself, but for the moment he's content to simply be still. It seems a very long time since he's just been still; probably since before he lost Rose. It's easier that way. So long as he doesn't stop he doesn't have time to think about anything that has to do with her. He'd done the same thing when they'd lost Jack. And though he succeeded in making Rose forget, he was never able to completely forget their captain.

Their captain, who feels exactly the same lying pressed against him now as he did then. It's impossible to forget Jack's heat. So he can be excused when he reached over and turns Jack onto his side. It takes only a moment for the younger man to curl around him, hot hair puffing against his neck. It's a position he knows well and he's fairly certain that if there wasn't a sheet between them Jack would have a leg draped overtop both of his. Jack's always been possessive in his sleep, something he's always assumed had to do with the two year hole in his memories. It seems only natural that he'd cling on tightly for fear of losing anything else. So even though he's been tempted to in the past, he never breaks Jack's hold on him. It's a small thing and it always seemed to comfort Jack a great deal.

Given the ultimate choice between relaxation and confronting his subconscious, he simply lets his mind go blank, enjoying Jack's closeness. The TARDIS is safely ensconced in the Time Vortex and purring away happily now that one of her crew members has returned. She won't let anything happen to them. Confident in his ship's ability to keep them safe, allows himself to drift off for the first time in a while. As he doesn't really need to sleep, it's been quite some time since he partook in this particular luxury. It's certainly preferable to allowing his thoughts to run wild.

_"Something tells me you are not from this time."_

_Jack snorted, shifting his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension in them. He'd been handcuffed to the chair for what felt like hours and left to sit and wait. It was only now, after to many hours that someone had finally come in to question him. His inquisitor was a tiny stick of a girl, dressed in a crisp black suit, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. A lifetime ago, Jack wouldn't have even hesitated to flirt with her. There was a great deal of fun to be had in handcuffs. But that was before he'd been to Satellite Five. Before he'd died and been brought back to life._

"_I was enjoying a nice breakfast," Jack grumbled, tugging his wrists apart as far as he was able—which unfortunately wasn't much. Nowhere near enough to get himself free. Not without her first noticing his struggling. "A full on English and a really good cup of coffee. And, let me tell you, finding a good cup of coffee in England isn't the easiest thing. Don't get me wrong, you lot make great tea, but when it comes to coffee—"_

_His words were cut off when someone he hadn't noticed yanked his head back at a painful angle. Behind him was a man also in a tailored black suit, his hair cut in close cropped military fashion. If the woman hadn't been giveaway enough, Jack was near completely convinced that it was the British government that nabbed him._

"_Whatever century you are from you are certainly American," the man sneered, scowling briefly before releasing his hold on Jack's hair. "Entirely too full of yourself."_

"_Better than living with a stick so far up my a—"_

_Jack's words were cut off when the woman slapped him hard across the face. For a tiny thing she packed on hell of a wallop and already Jack could taste blood in his mouth. Turning his head to the side, he spat blood and saliva out onto the concrete floor._

"_We here at Torchwood do not take kindly to such insolence."_

His return to self awareness is sudden. He hadn't actually meant to go poking about in Jack's subconscious and was relieved that Jack didn't seem to be aware of what had occurred. Seeing that memory, however, had only added to his hatred of Torchwood. The organization that he had inadvertently set on the course to foundation hadn't only stolen Rose from him, but had also apparently strong armed Jack into working for them.

That dream is a very real reminder of the fact that while it has only been roughly a year for him, in Jack's timeline more than a century has passed since they have last met. A century stuck on the slow path for a man who is used to traveling the stars. From a historical perspective the 20th century is a busy and fascinating century, but Jack is from the 51st century and the three millennia that separate his time from Rose's are monumental. It's on par with expecting someone from the 20th century to go and live in ancient Greece. It will have likely made an interesting vacation spot but it's something else entirely to make it one's home. And Jack has done so because he was looking for them. Without knowing the full details of what had happened on Satellite Five, Jack had gone back to the time and place their paths were most likely to cross.

With Jack sleeping peacefully in his arms he now understands the TARDIS' recent fascination with 21st century England. The old girl is a lot more clever than people give her credit for.

* * *

Jack can't help but be surprised when he wakes up to feel the heat of another body next to him. It's been a long time since he's truly slept with someone. He's dozed after sex with nameless strangers, and with Estelle he was able to find some peace. But even with her he was playing a role that he couldn't afford to let slip, not even in sleep. Jack can't even think what would have happened if he'd woken her with one of his nightmares.

With the Doctor he's not playing a role, and though he may still go by a name that's not his, he can be himself. The Doctor was never bothered by his nightmares in the past; even went so far as to soothe them in that slightly gruff manner of his.

At the moment the Doctor is absently running fingers along his arm, eyes closed. It's the first chance he's had to observe this new version of the Doctor because he's learned quickly that the other man is not often still. And even though he knows the Doctor's not really asleep, he looks his fill. Because he may not get another chance. If his time with the Doctor had taught him anything it was that nothing was certain. Not even death. Jack knows that at one point on Satellite Five he was dead. The Dalek had killed him. He's still not sure how he was brought back, but the Doctor seems to have it figured out.

"If I'd known what Torchwood would do to you and Rose I'd have put a stop to it a long time ago."

The Doctor's words are spoken so softly that even in the stillness of the TARDIS Jack almost misses them. The gentle fingers on his arm never let up.

"I'm a big boy, Doc. I can handle Torchwood," Jack assures him. "Besides, nothing was permanent."

He's not sure if the Doctor plucked the thoughts from his mind, but, even so, Jack makes sure not to mention the time he spent as Torchwood's resident guinea pig. After all, how often does a secret government agency get its hands on a man who apparently can't die? It wasn't until they'd poked and prodded everything that could be poked or prodded that he'd been put on the payroll. In the nearly half-century that's passed he's all but forgotten about his early days with Torchwood.

The Doctor doesn't appear as willing to forget. It's a vast change from only a short time ago when one of his own team members shot him. He doesn't hold it against Owen; all of them were having their thoughts turned against them. Still, Jack finds it difficult to envision the Doctor ever shooting him.

Rolling onto his back, Jack glances towards the Doctor. "So, what happens next?"

* * *

He purses his lips, bobbing his head from side to side as best he can while lying down. He hasn't actually thought about what will happen beyond bringing Jack back onboard the TARDIS. Over the years he has certainly never been accused of over planning things. Quite the contrary, really. And while he has every intention of finding out just what happened to Jack during the battle with the Dalek's, beyond that it's all entirely up in the air. He'd prefer it if Jack decides to stay on the TARDIS, but he won't force him.

"I hadn't actually thought that far," he admits, glancing at Jack out of the corner of his eye. He grinned when he noticed the other man's smirk. "Oh be fair, you were dead when I brought you on board. And as you're a captain who has spent the entire 20th century in some sort of military service or other you should be well versed in the phrase, 'dead men tell no tales.' I could hardly be expected to have some kind of holiday package waiting for you."

"I was a captain in the air force, not on a pirate ship," Jack points out and though he can't quite catch it with his peripheral vision, he knows the Doctor is rolling his eyes.

"Oh I don't know… Captain Jack. Has a nice ring for a pirate if I say so myself."

This time Jack is laughing at him outright and though he's not entirely sure what he said that was so humorous, he smiles. Jack is utterly relaxed, one arm behind his head, his other hand idly scratching at his bare stomach. For a moment he feels slightly overdressed. He hadn't even bothered to take off his trainers when he'd stretched out next to Jack. He wiggles his toes about inside his Chucks, idly wishing that he'd at least taken them off.

"Feeling a bit overdressed, are you?" Jack grins, arching a single, dark brow.

"Not quite the exhibitionist you are," he counters immediately. "Did save the world in a borrowed pair of pyjamas once, mind. Hardly the stuff of heroic legend, but then last I checked I wasn't even officially listed as being a part of the whole Sycorax incident. Saved the world and don't even get any credit. I even lost my hand! It's not the first time that's happened. Saving the Earth without getting credit, not having my hand lopped off. First time that's ever happened. Nine hundred years and that's the first time I lost a limb. Although I nearly did lose my tongue a few months back. Nearly had it cut out when I insulted the wrong courtesan on Klaxton 7..."

He trails off as Jack starts laughing quietly.

"Now what?"

Jack snorts in amusement. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot this time around?"

"I've also been told that I'm a bit rude. I don't mean to be, it just kind of happens." He scratches at the underside of his jaw, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Apparently I also have a bit of an oral fixation. Though why I'm telling you that I'm not entirely sure."

Jack's laughing even harder now and twisting about so that he's propped up on his side. He is fully aware that he is being studied by Jack and takes the time to do some studying of his own. And while he has no doubts that the man lying next to him is Jack Harkness, it's a very different Jack Harkness than he'd known before. The years apart have not been easy for him, the truth of it written clearly on Jack's face. Not quite so obvious unless one knows where to look. And he most certainly does.

So when Jack leans over to kiss him he doesn't stop him. Nor does he protest when Jack rolls himself a bit more so that he's lying half on top of him. He's only half surprised when his own hands reach up to slide through Jack's hair. The dark hair is longer than it was in the past, but just as thick. Just as easy to grip.

It's a funny little thought to have, he reckons, then tells himself to stop thinking and enjoy the chance to simply feel.

And what wondrous feelings they are. Jack's body is full of all sorts of contradictions. He could quite happily spend hours mapping the topography of Jack's body, but knows that now is not the time for such things. So instead he helps Jack struggle him out of his own too many layers while at the same time divesting Jack of his black shorts.

Then he can only feel heat. Blissful, wonderful heat that he will gladly give away years of his life just to surround himself in.

He tries his best to peer down Jack's body to get a better look at him, but Jack's arching against him so tightly that he really can't see anything. So instead he simply rolls Jack over so that the other man's lying on his back and sits back on his heels. There he can look his fill. Jack's legs are spread on either side of his hips and he glides his fingers along the man's inner thighs, thumbs grazing his heavy sack. Jack shudders in a wonderful way and arches his hips upwards when he presses against that smooth patch of skin behind his bollocks.

Jack reaches for him then, latching long fingers around the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss that momentarily makes him forget to breathe. He throws himself in whole-heartedly and by the end it's Jack who's struggling to breathe. He's quite proud of himself, especially of the glazed look in Jack's eyes. He leans over, touching his forehead against Jack's, and smiles.

There is some adolescent rutting that is not at all dignified, but feels absolutely fantastic. And while the universe itself feels as though it is coiling about him, he forces himself to concentrate and probes gently at the edges of Jack's mind. He doesn't go any further until he has permission and then slowly eases past the defences Jack had built himself. And when he sees the kaleidoscope of Jack's life over the past one hundred years he understands why. There is pain and agony to fill up a hundred lifetimes and though he can't erase it, he can ease it just a little. Perhaps bring some of the Jack he knew back from the mists.

He welcomes it when he feels Jack's thoughts nudging against his own. It's only right that Jack should receive just as much as he was giving. Jack's thoughts rushing in and between his brings things into focus in a way he hasn't expected. Everything funnelling through a single point that makes him tight and explosive all at once.

Everything is rather hot, sticky and uncomfortable when it is finished, but he finds himself rather unwilling to move. Jack is equally lethargic, heart beating loudly and his eyelids fluttering. The slight smile curving his lips is most definitely one of the most amazing sights he's ever seen.

* * *

Even if he wants to, he's not entirely certain he he's capable of moving right then. So it's a plus that he's content to stay right where he is, nestled up against the Doctor whose normally cool skin is heated from exertion. There's almost a sense of accomplishment knowing that he's the one who did that to the Doctor. He can't remember a time when the old Doctor became quite so unspooled. And while he'd certainly like a repeat performance, at the moment he doesn't think he can summon up the energy.

"Wasn't expecting that," the Doctor groans, his left hand waving about a bit before coming to rest on Jack's upper arm. "Can't honestly remember when the last time was I did that. Quite a lot more messy than I recall."

Jack chuckles quietly, but doesn't say anything. His body is humming too blissfully to bother doing anything. It will probably be uncomfortable later, but for the moment he just wants to be still. Perhaps he can even sleep for once rather than simply fall unconscious. It'll certainly be a welcome change.

This time while Jack sleeps he makes sure to stay awake. He has no intention of accidentally poking about inside Jack's memories. What he's seen already has been more than enough. He'd much rather Jack tell him the things he wants to share. Things would become dull rather quickly should he know everything there is to about Captain Jack Harkness. But what he has seen has given him some clues as to why Jack can't stay dead. Not enough to piece everything together yet, but what he's seen is pointing him in the right direction. If it's what Jack wants he quite sure he can figure out a way to remove whatever glitch won't let him die.

However, buried way down deep in one of his hearts, he likes the idea that Jack can't die. Should Jack choose to stay—he's not even completely sure that's what Jack intends—he won't have to watch Jack wither and die.

The only thing that keeps that thought from taking hold is that Jack is human and humans aren't meant to live forever. If it's at all possible he should find a way to fix whatever it is the Time Vortex did to Jack. It can't be doing his poor little ape mind any good to be constantly fluctuating between life and death. Doing it once every hundred years or so had wreaked havoc on him more than once and Time Lords are designed for that kind of thing. Given Jack's reckless and heroic streaks he's quite sure that Jack ha died and come back many times over the years.

With Jack currently wrapped around him like an octopus, it takes a bit of effort for him to get out of bed without waking Jack. There are a few things he wants to check before Jack wakes up. With the little peak he had into Jack's mind earlier he has a few idea about just what is keeping him alive and the sooner he can confirm it the better it will be for Jack. Because though Jack hasn't said it out loud, he is tired of living. And he can't blame him. It's the same way he knows he'll be relieved when he can finally die. And though he knows that day is coming, it is still a long way off. Jack, however, has no such assurances.

As he leaves Jack's bedroom and heads towards the console room, he passes his own bedroom. It wasn't there the last time he walked this path, but it's not the first time the TARDIS has moved something about to make a point. When he'd gone to collect the then-dead man, Jack's room had been further away. It was only as he'd brought Jack on board that it had moved closer to the console room.

The moment he steps into his room he knows exactly why the TARDIS brought it so close. Going over to the chest he lifts out Jack's RAF great coat. He noticed Jack wearing one when he'd confronted Abaddon and it had also featured in a few of the memories he'd viewed earlier. Jack wearing the greatcoat again certainly isn't a bad thing. Quite the contrary. The former Time Agent cuts quite the dashing figure in it.

While it's easy enough to go back to Jack's room and leave the coat where he'll see it, he's much more inclined to bring it into the console room with him. He wants Jack to be sure that he hasn't been forgotten in the time since Satellite Five. That both his old self and this new incarnation cared that they'd lost him. That he hasn't just preserved his room like a mausoleum, but that he's kept personal things close. Things that will remind him of those he loves.

Since the lighting is bad at the door where the coat rack is, he drapes Jack's coat over the rails that surround the central console. It won't be missed there. If he'd lucky Jack'll see it as soon as he walks in. It's better if Jack finds it for himself. Things might get a bit soppy otherwise and while he's more willing to be domestic this time round he still doesn't excess fluffy emotions.

"Thank you for finding him," he says quietly to the TARDIS as he caresses the controls. He cringes inwardly, realizing that he's just gotten soppy all on his own. "I'm getting old."

* * *

Even though he knows it shouldn't be, it's still a bit of a shock to wake up alone. He mentally chastises himself for such thoughts before he even opens his eyes. The Doctor is an alien who rarely needs to sleep; it would be idiotic of him to expect the Doctor to lie about just because he's tired.

And damn, but he's exhausted. All the times he's died over the years and none of them have floored him like this last time. Jack certainly doesn't regret what he did, not even for an instant. From what he can determine, force-feeding Abaddon worked. The Rift is sealed and even though he's a bit worse for wear, he's still alive. Best of all, what he did led the Doctor back to him. That alone is worth all the aches and pains.

Because maybe, just maybe, the Doctor can figure out a way to fix him.

Sure enough, as he expected he finds the Doctor in the console room. Only instead of tinkering about with the mechanics of the ship, he's focused on one screen in particular. The one Jack's never been able to read because the screen is all in Gallifreyan and for all the TARDIS' translation abilities, she keeps the secret of that ancient language. And though he may not be able to read the language, as he comes up behind the slender man there's no mistaking the biological readouts on the screen.

"If she knows what happened to you she's not admitting to it yet," the Doctor says without turning around. "The poor girl seems to be getting stubborn in her old age."

Jack lays a hand on the console, stroking the familiar metal. "Have to keep you on your toes somehow."

The Doctor snorts at that. "She more than capable of doing that without withholding vital information." He gives the closest bit of machinery a good thump with the flat of his hand. "This is important, now give me the readings."

He can't help but be surprised by the Doctor's vehemence. If it was Rose he wouldn't even question it, but it's not. It's him. For the longest time, when he first joined the TARDIS' crew, he'd felt like a third wheel. It was clear right from the start that the Doctor's first priority would always be Rose. He knows that towards the end he was cared for, loved even. He wasn't left behind by accident. He was just misplaced for a little while. In the end, the Doctor came back for him.

Stepping away from the Doctor, Jack wanders around the platform taking in any changes that have occurred to the TARDIS' main room. He didn't have much time to explore earlier before the Doctor shuffled him off back to bed. And while he certainly won't complain about what happened, he wants to stay awake longer this time. He wants a chance to talk to this new Doctor and get to know him because already he can see many differences between him and the one he knew. Very obvious ones; not the least of which is the leather jacket his counterpart was never without. He can't even picture this man wearing that coat.

Jack's inspection of the TARDIS stops when he catches sight of something familiar draped over one of the rails. He glances over his shoulder at the Doctor who is still muttering away at the TARDIS before running the tips of his fingers over the heavy wool greatcoat. And though it looks identical to the one he's worn for decades, he knows that this is the one he wore during the whole debacle with the Chula ambulance. He looks to the Doctor again, unable to believe that he's kept the coat for so long. This time the Doctor is looking at him and their eyes meet for a moment.

Making sure the Doctor is completely aware of his movements, Jack picks up his RAF greatcoat and walks down the ramp towards the doors. There is already one coat hanging on the coat rack and Jack hangs his there as well.

* * *

Try as he might, he still gets caught watching Jack. To be fair, though, the other man is watching him just as much. Even when Jack's eyes aren't on him he knows that he's being watched because Jack makes it a point to take his coat over to the coat rack and hang it up. It's not a statement of intent, but he lets himself hope that maybe Jack intends to stay for at least a while. At least until he can figure out how Jack ended up suffering from immortality.

"So where are we?" Jack asks as he strides back onto the platform. He chuckles quietly to himself, shaking his head briefly. "Sorry. I've spent too much time in one period._ When _are we?"

He smiles over at Jack while he waits for a new readout to appear on the screen. "Either question would have been sufficient because we're not really anywhere. Just hovering about in the Time Vortex. I wasn't sure how long it would take you to get back on your feet so this seemed like the best place to wait."

"And just how long was I dead?"

"Four days, give or take," he says, his eyes flickering between the screen and Jack. When he sees the slight stagger in the other man's step, all of his attention is on Jack. "Well really only three. You woke up some time during the third day, but then just drifted back off again. Your mind probably wasn't completely ready to be conscious again. Or your body wasn't. It's hard to say exactly. But you're alive and well now so it doesn't really matter. How are you feeling, by the way? Not still wobbly or lightheaded, are you? I really should take you to the medlab and look you over. Make sure everything's relatively normal on the inside. Maybe I can also figure out what's keeping you alive."

Because the TARDIS certainly isn't giving him the answers he needs.

When he glances back at the screen, he sees the printout he'd been hoping not to. The TARDIS has no recording of what occurred from the time Rose ripped open the console till he expelled the Time Vortex back into the heart of the ship. Oh he knows the information is in there somewhere, it's just a matter of coaxing her into giving it up. Only he's not entirely sure how long that will take. The TARDIS can be quite stubborn when she puts her mind to it.

"I have files at Torchwood that might help," Jack says as though reading his thoughts. "I made copies of the reports for every test that was done to me over the years. Figured they may come in handy at some point."

Jack doesn't mention whether that was intended to use it as blackmail or the very situation they were in now and he doesn't ask. For the moment it is better simply not to speak of such things. Once he gets things sorted out with Jack and his immortality problem then maybe he can sort out the whole Torchwood affair once and for all. If the things he saw in Jack's memories are true—never mind what he saw at the Torchwood One office—then the group has its hands on things that the human race shouldn't be aware of for centuries yet. Regardless of what happened to Jack and Rose that is reason enough to put a stop to them.

"Where are the files?"

* * *

He can't help but be amused at the array of guns pointed at them when the Doctor opens the TARDIS' doors. The Time Lord doesn't just open one, either. He has apparently become a bit of a showman since they last met if the flourish with which he opens both doors is any indication.

"Um... I come in peace?"

The guns don't waver, not even when Jack comes to stand beside the Doctor. None of the guns are pointed at him, but Jack doesn't think they're overly concerned about whether they miss him or not.

"Put the guns away," Jack says, stepping forward so that he is between the Doctor and his trigger-happy team. "He's not even armed."

"But I do believe that's my hand I see twitching about over there," the Doctor speaks up and Jack knows more questions will follow at some point. "Jack, why do I see my hand over there?"

Ianto and Gwen's guns waver slightly, but only just. It is quite obvious that all of them are certain that the Doctor is a threat. Things might go a little smoother if he can convince them that the Doctor is harmless. Jack knows that he's not, but the others don't need to be aware of this.

"He kidnapped you, Jack," Gwen insists, gun coming back up. "When you were still... dead... he came and took you. Then he just disappeared in that blue box. How can we be sure he didn't do anything to you? It's been more than a week."

Jack arches a dark brow in the Doctor's direction. The other man merely shrugs his shoulders, doing his utmost to appear innocent. A look he hardly achieves with the mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes.

"Look, I'm fine," Jack does his best to reassure them. "It just took a little while for me to get back on my feet this time around. But I'm fine. Completely recovered. And no, he didn't kidnap me."

Gwen is shaking her head frantically. "I was there, Jack. I saw it. He showed up out of nowhere and took you. I'm not an idiot. I saw the box. I know what it means. He's the Doctor—the whole reason Torchwood was founded. He's the enemy, Jack."

"He is still standing right here in case you've failed to notice," the Doctor says as he moves to stand alongside Jack. All four guns immediately turn towards him. "And I'll have you know that I was knighted by Queen Victoria. Sir Doctor of TARDIS. Granted, I was exiled almost immediately after, but she did acknowledge the fact that I saved her life. And I did the same thing when the Sycorax invaded. Can't forget that whole mess you lot created with the Daleks and the Cybermen. You're not trying to tear any new holes in the universe, are you?"

As Jack expects, the guns remained pointed at them. The Doctor not denying things hasn't helped much. And, of course, the Doctor looks more amused than anything else. He stands, hands shoved into his pockets grinning at Jack's Torchwood staff. But Jack knows the Doctor well enough, even this new version, to see the hard edge hidden beneath the wide, boyish smile. Still, it's strange to see the Doctor so at ease with them given his history with Torchwood.

There are times even now that Jack wouldn't mind razing the whole thing to the ground. Destroying all of the files and all of the technology that has been scavenged over the years. That is only on his own behalf. He doesn't want to think about what the Doctor felt when he lost Rose. Had it been him, Jack wouldn't be the least bit calm right now. The Doctor, however, has more than a few centuries on him. Whatever is going on in the Doctor's head is not likely to show on his face. Jack has heard the stories of what happened during the Sycorax invasion and the Doctor's unforgiving nature. He can't envision the old Doctor killing someone so callously that way. There is an edge to him that Jack hasn't seen yet, but that he knows exists.

"All right, guns away!" Jack orders, hoping to keep things from escalating further. Immediately, Gwen and Ianto lower their guns, Tosh following suit a few moments later. Owen's gun doesn't so much as twitch so Jack takes a few steps towards the other man until he's standing with the barrel of the gun pressing into his chest. "That includes you, Owen. I'm here now which means I'm in charge and I'm ordering you to holster that gun. Now."

Jack stands perfectly still, waiting for Owen to either shoot him or stand down. At this point he's not entirely sure which option Owen'll choose. It won't be the first time Owen's shot him.

He can't stop himself from jerking slightly when a hand reaches between him and Owen and snatches up the gun. The gun goes off and Jack feels a slight catch in his side, but knows that it's only a graze. As Jack pressed a hand to his side, he hears the sound of a gun clattering against the ground and then the Doctor is standing in front of him.

"That was definitely not a good idea," the Doctor growls. "Probably about as far from a good idea as it's conceivably possible to get. Now if you know who I am, then you must know my reputation. A reputation I can assure you I have rightly earned on this planet and in this century. Quite a few others, but that's neither here nor there at the moment. What's more pressing is the fact that you were just holding a gun on a very good friend of mine. Someone who's died to save this planet more than once. And not just in this century. Thousands of years in the future he stood face to face with the Daleks and died without so much as a whimper so that I'd have more time to save this planet. Did the same thing a few days ago from what I can tell. Even if he is traveling with me, that's not reason enough to shoot him."

Even as Ianto is ensuring that his injury isn't too bad, Jack has to refrain from pointing out that strictly speaking it's the Doctor who got him shot. He is the one who knocked Owen's hand which set the gun off. The only reason he doesn't is because it's amusing watching Owen cower before the Doctor.

"Ianto, I'm fine," Jack insists, batting at the hands that are dabbing at the bloody gouge on his side. "It's barely even a knick. Ruined my shirt, though. You know me a new shirt, Doctor."

The Doctor glances his way for a moment and Jack can see the concern in eyes that he is still expecting to be blue instead of brown. He smiles briefly for the Doctor's benefit, letting the other man know he's all right. Considering how he felt when he first woke up on the TARDIS, this pain is barely equivalent to a paper cut. Of course, him getting shot within five minutes of arriving certainly won't improve the Doctor's opinion of Torchwood.

"You lot take Jack up to his office and make sure he's in one piece," the Doctor orders, nodding towards Ianto, Tosh and Gwen. "I just want to have a quick word with twitchy fingers here then I'll join you."

"Doctor—"

"Don't worry, Jack, I just want to talk with him."

The Doctor's wide grin does nothing to reassure him.

* * *

Even before the weasely man said a single word, he had disliked him. The man, Owen he now knew, had stood out prominently in Jack's recent memories. He had shot Jack point blank several times. He's fairly certain Owen is the reason it took Jack so long to recover from his encounter with Abaddon.

"Hello there," he says as soon as he and Owen are alone. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm the Doctor. And as you work for Torchwood I'm sure you've heard stories about me. While I can't guarantee that they're all true, I'm quite certain that a fair number of them are. Anything that mentions the Daleks and the Oncoming Storm most definitely are. Ahh. Was that a tiny flicker of fear I saw in your eyes? So you've heard those stories, have you? Good. That means I don't have to stay out here threatening you. So how about you just toddle off and do whatever it is you do around here and in a short time Jack and I'll be out of your hair."

Owen tries his hand, and fails miserably, at glowering. He looks more constipated than anything else. If it wasn't for the fact that the man has twice tried to kill Jack he'd be amused by his pathetic attempts at being the alpha male. But it is Jack who, were it not for some strange quirk that he hasn't yet figured out, would be dead several times over because of the man standing before him.

"Do I get a chance to defend myself?" Owen asks and he's quite impressed that the boy's voice doesn't quaver.

"That would require me believing there was any justification to shooting an unarmed man between the eyes."

That is sufficient to cow Owen's superior attitude. And he would quite enjoy putting the man in his place at the moment he's more concerned with ensuring Jack is all right and getting out of Torchwood.

"Try to stop us leaving and you'll regret it," he tells Owen before turning away and striding quickly in the direction he saw Jack and the others go.

* * *

Jack winces slightly as he twists his torso to get a look at the bloody wound Ianto was tending to. Under normal circumstances such an injury would barely even cause him to twitch, but his body has been so rung out lately that he's not healing as well as usual. So he sits still while Ianto does his work, watching for sign of the Doctor.

It's almost a surprise that the Doctor appears so quickly. With the way the Time Lord likes to talk he'd expected to be waiting a long while.

"Hey there, Doc," Jack says, grinning at the other man. "Owen still in one piece?"

"What is it with Torchwood and hiring such rubbish staff?" the Doctor grumbles as he sits on the edge of Jack's desk. "Yvonne Hartman nearly brings about the end of the world and I can't imagine things going much better with that little man in charge. Very shoot first and ask questions later. That never goes well... So what's the verdict?"

"He'll live," Ianto says quietly as he tapes a piece of gauze over the wound.

"No surprise there," Jack chuckles, squeezing Ianto's shoulder briefly as he stands up. "Though I really wish this immortality thing had a bullet proof clause in it."

While Ianto is fetching one of his extra shirts, the Doctor comes over to inspect his side. He crouches down next to him, running his fingertips over the bandage. "I didn't mean for it to happen. It always seems to come off so much more stylishly in films."

"It was just a graze," he assures the Doctor. "Barely even that. Ianto here just likes to be overly cautious."

Jack smiles briefly at Ianto as the other man hands him a white button-down shirt. Though the gun wound doesn't hurt much he's in no rush to be lifting his arms above his head right now. And though he enjoys the Doctor's beside manner, he doesn't need the Time Lord fussing over him. That can wait till they're back on the TARDIS. Jack's not entirely sure when he made the decision, but he knows he'll stick with the Doctor even after the whole immortality thing has been worked out. He only spent a few short months of his exceptionally long life on board the magnificent time ship, but in that time it became home. Rose might be gone and the Doctor has changed, but it's still home. Enough of the Doctor he knew resides in the new one that when their minds brush against one another he knows it's his Doctor standing there. The one he'd spent a century searching for.

Feeling a gentle pressure against the edges of his mind, Jack pauses buttoning his shirt and smiles in the Doctor's direction. It's a relief to know he's finally home.

* * *

Even as he watches Jack move about and speak he can't quite believe the other man's alive. He knows Jack's near enough to immortal, but after Abaddon, it had been more than a day without Jack resurrecting. And then a man in a blue box had appeared and taken Jack. The Doctor had come in his TARDIS, but Ianto'd had no idea what the Doctor had wanted with Jack. Gwen had only told them that the man said he was looking for something he'd lost. That something was apparently Jack.

Now Jack has come back, alive, but Ianto's not too sure that he's going to stay. It's a relief to see Jack alive when they had been beginning to think of him as dead, but when he sees the smile Jack gives the Doctor he knows things are no longer quite the same.

"Where are the files?" the Doctor asks Jack as he pokes about the office, lifting files and glancing behind cupboards. "The sooner we get them the sooner we can leave."

Ianto spins about quickly at the same time Gwen says, "Leave?"

"But you've only just come back," she continues after a moment's shocked silence.

"He's not meant for you time," the Doctor tells her. "He never was."

Ianto knows his face must look stricken because Jack's features immediately soften. "I can't stay here. No matter how much I may want to, this isn't where I belong."

Though he is desperate to, Ianto refuses to beg Jack to stay. He will not place that kind of burden on his friend, not when he knows how desperately Jack has been searching for the Doctor. There are files that Ianto has come across while cleaning that are filled with countless scraps of information about the Doctor. The hand is the biggest give away of all. There is no need for Jack to keep the severed hand so close to him, it could easily be stored in the vault, but Ianto has never been able to coax him into parting with it. Of course, Ianto had never expected to be standing face to face with the owner of the hand. During all of the chaos at Canary Wharf, he can remember briefly glimpsing the slim man in the pinstripe suit, but at the time he hadn't known who he was. That he was the man Jack had spent over a century searching for.

"So you're just going to leave us?" Gwen demands, her voice accusatory. "After everything we've all been through together you're just going to leave us?"

"There are things that you don't understand, Gwen," Jack sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Then explain it to me," Gwen says, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Jack. "Explain to me why we're so insignificant that you can just leave without a second thought."

Jack sighs deeply. "It's not like that, Gwen."

Ianto can't figure out how Gwen doesn't see how devastated Jack is. He doesn't know how long it's been for Jack since he left with the Doctor, but when he'd first seen him he'd known that Jack was a long way from one hundred percent. The gunshot wound had only made things worse without Gwen adding her own insecurities to the mix.

"Gwen, weren't you and Tosh about to go check those Weevil sightings down in the tunnels," Ianto reminded her, many months of experience showing him just how exhausted Jack was. The interrogation could wait until later.

Gwen flounders about for a few minutes, but in the end concedes defeat and leaves the office. She's obviously less than happy about it and he knows that he'll hear about it later. Once Jack and the Doctor are gone. And while he wishes that Jack would be able to stay with them, he understands that it's just not possible. Jack's from a time far in the future and has only stayed this long because he was waiting for the Doctor. A century waiting for someone he loved. And while he knows less than nothing about their relationship, he knows that with the Doctor Jack finally has a home.

* * *

Jack looks pretty much like death warmed over and he can't help thinking he should have waited a bit before making this trip to Torchwood. Maybe given Jack another day or so to recoup. Of course it could be getting shot that's making him look so wretched. He can't imagine that Jack is feeling in top form at the moment, but once they get back to the TARDIS he'll make sure Jack gets a chance to rest.

Provided, of course, he can get Jack to stay still long enough. He knows from experience that Jack is good at distracting people to avoid doing things he doesn't necessarily want to. And staying confined to a bed for extended periods—with no sex involved—tops the list if he remembers right. Or is at least very close to it.

"Ianto, can you get the files out of my safe before the Doctor makes a complete disaster of my office?" Jack asks as he slowly crosses the room to where a greatcoat identical to the one he'd worn in 1941 hangs. He files away all sorts of questions that spring up about the coat, intending to ask Jack about them later. "The ones in the lock box."

"I'll have you know, Jack, that I'm not a five year old and can in fact behave myself," he reminds the younger man, allowing the folder he'd been glancing through to drop shut.

"I'll believe that when I see it," Jack chuckles, glancing at him over his shoulder as he fingers the sleeve of the coat.

He really can't help but poke about Jack's office. The other man seems to be as much of a pack rat as he is. There are objects from various eras in the past century scattered about on every available flat surface. Memories that Jack had made for himself during the century he'd been waiting for him. The things from the future, though, are far more interesting. None of it is harmful, especially not in the hands of a former Time Agent who knows the laws of time, just a few oddities that others might scrap. There are one or two things that he knows he's scrapped over the years.

Picking up a pair of Scontilian gaming cubes—dice for a rather elaborate drinking game popular during the 42nd century—he turns around to ask Jack where he got them and finds the other man gone. The other one is still there, but for Jack to get out of the office he'd have needed to walk past him and he knows Jack hasn't done that.

"Where'd Jack go?" he demands, tossing the dice down onto the nearest shelf. He spins in a complete circle, still not seeing Jack.

"I'm down here!"

The disembodied voice makes him spin about again, noticing a hole in the ground that he's fairly certain wasn't there before. With a few quick strides he's standing at the edge of the hole and peering down into a dimly lit room that looks fairly bedroom-like from his angle.

"Jack?"

Jack comes to stand below the opening, grinning up at him. "Down here, Doctor. I'm just picking up a few things before we head off."

Clambering down the stairs, he decides that the room is most definitely Jack's bedroom. It's small, cozy, and he's fairly certain that Jack doesn't do much sleeping down here because it's a battered old armchair that looks more lived in than the bed.

"Figure since I'll be travelling with you again I can finally get some new batteries for this thing," Jack says holding up one of the many small guns that he used to keep hidden on his person. "Can't exactly send out for a new one in this century."

He takes the blaster from Jack, turning it over in his hands. "I remember this one. There was a time I was pretty convinced that you didn't even take a shower without it."

"That was only the one time," Jack defends himself, his lips quirking in a brief grin. "And if I remember right you didn't even let Rose close the bathroom door at that place. Not that I blame you. Valcorion wasn't our best choice of a vacation spot. The place before that, though, Felix Major 5, that was a good trip."

"The food was excellent. You quite enjoyed the local beer," he grins at the other man.

Jack chuckles quietly, taking the blaster back from him. "So did you, Doc... That was a good night. We should go back there one day."

"We could go there now if you want," he suggests as he begins poking through the piles of books that litter the small room. "You could likely use a few days to recoup."

Jack's eyes slant towards him as he stuffs a few books into a rucksack. "Are you trying to seduce me, Doctor?"

"Oh trust me, Jack, I'm far more obvious about such things now."

"I'll have to put that to the test once we get out of here."

* * *

It will definitely take him some time to get used to how open the Doctor is now. Before it had always been like pulling teeth from a tetchy lion to get the Doctor to talk about anything even vaguely emotional. Even with Rose, and Jack had never had any doubt that the Doctor had loved her. He was the one who'd been on tenderhooks those first few weeks, always wondering when he'd be booted out.

It was on Felix Major 5 that he'd finally started to think of the TARDIS as his home. That was where he received his key to the ship, a blatant sign from the Doctor that he was trusted. The Doctor hadn't made a big deal out of it, simply tossed him the key when they were alone after Rose had gone to bed.

_"Figure you should have a way to get in here in case something goes wrong and we get separated. Don't loose it. It's a pain going back to Earth to get copies made. Rose always wants to spend the day shopping and I don't fancy going through that again in this lifetime." _

In all the time that's passed since they were separated on Satellite Five, Jack hasn't lost that key. It's been a close thing more than a few times, but he hasn't lost it. Even when he lost everything else in the end he always managed to keep track of the key. It was all he'd had left of his home.

Seeing the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd face Abaddon sitting folded on the top of his dresser, Jack riffles through the right front pocket of his trousers. His fingers close round the TARDIS key and he slides it out. When he holds it up for the Doctor to see, the Time Lord's face splits into a big grin.

"Good man!" he enthuses, striding over to take Jack into an all-too brief embrace.

Jack holds the Doctor tightly for a moment before loosening his hold. "Always hoped we'd cross paths again at some point."

The Doctor's expression is sober when he steps back. "If I'd known you were alive, Jack, I wouldn't have left the Game Station without you. I never meant to leave you behind."

"I know," Jack murmurs softly. "Like I told the Dalek emperor; never doubted you, never will."

He doesn't tell the Doctor how betrayed he'd felt those first few days; how absolutely devastated when he'd realized that the Doctor wasn't coming back for him. There's no point in rehashing old wounds now that they've finally been reunited. So when he sees the Doctor beginning to protest, he leans forward to catch the other man's lips with his own. One hand is fisted into the Doctor's absolutely unruly hair and he deftly slips the TARDIS key into his pocket before latching onto the Time Lord's hip.

Several lifetimes ago, before he'd discovered that he can't die, he'd have grabbed the Doctor's ass instead of his hip, but over the years he's learned the value of patience. Instead, Jack takes his time, savouring this encounter with the Doctor. The kiss is a slow one. Neither of them has a need to rush to lips are nibbled at, tongues glide over the fronts of teeth before disappearing behind to stroke upper palates and caress tongues. He knows the Doctor can hold his breath for extended periods, but even though he needs to breathe Jack prolongs the kiss.

The need to breathe was about to become a more pressing issue when alarms begin to go off. Loud, insistent alarms that make Jack's blood run cold. Ending the kiss quickly he latches onto the Doctor's hand and drags him back towards the stairs.

"We need to get back to the TARDIS!" Jack shouts, taking the lead in case danger is waiting for them above.

Sure enough, when he gets to the top, Owen is waiting with a large tranquilizer gun. Ianto is nowhere to be seen. Before he can even take the final step into his office, Owen fires the gun. The dart hits him squarely in the chest and he stumbles backwards briefly. The Doctor's hands grab hold of his sides, preventing him from falling backwards. As his vision begins to go black and hazy he feels the Doctor's hand slip into his pocket and pull out the TARDIS key before wrapping his arms around him. He only hopes that the Doctor has a chance to get away.

* * *

"Come with me peacefully or I'll kill Jack," Owen threatens, the gun now pointed at him. The alarm is still going off, adding the weasely man's air of menace.

He merely rolls his eyes as he carefully stretches Jack out on the stairs. "I think we both know that threat is pretty much moot point."

It's worrisome that that particular realization doesn't give Owen pause. "I might not be able to kill him outright, but we have a Cyberman conversion unit in the lower levels and who knows what'll happen to him if I put him in."

That is a threat he cannot ignore. Becoming a Cyberman is worse than death and Jack can't die. He would never be free from the torment of the Cybermen; living on forever a brain trapped in a metal suit.

"What's guaranteeing that you won't hurt Jack even if I agree? Because you don't strike me as the most trustworthy of blokes seeing as you just shot your boss. It's not even the first time you've shot him. So remind me why I should be trusting such a twitchy little man when I could just as easily disarm you and take Jack out of here?" While he's rambling, he's stepping around Jack and up the remainder of the stairs. He's quite sure that Ianto fellow will look after Jack. The more he moves around the more likely he is to keep Owen from noticing just what it is he's doing in his right coat pocket. The pocket where he'd dropped his sonic screwdriver before leaving the TARDIS.

"Because I could. Disarm you, that is. Little old me, man alone, defeated the Daleks and the Cybermen at Canary Wharf. Sure, Rose helped with the switch, but I'm the brilliant one who came up with the idea on how to send them back into the Void. So how about you give me the gun before you make me really angry. Harriet Jones made that mistake and I toppled her entire government with six little words. Getting past you would be a cake walk besides."

Only when he's sure that he has the screwdriver turned to the correct setting does he take it out of his pocket. Owen is still fumbling with the trigger while he takes aim and disarms him with the single press of a button. Owen continues to squeeze the trigger, but nothing happens except that he gets more annoyed.

"So now that you're no longer armed, let's talk this out like rational people," he says, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"Talk all you want, it won't keep the Torchwood security forces from capturing you," Owen growls as he tosses the now-useless gun aside. "You are our number one enemy and we won't survive if it's discovered that we just let you waltz in and out without doing anything about it."

"Yeah... I don't quite see that happening," he says, bobbing his head from side to side. "Because you see, you're one measely little human—not that I'm disparaging humans because I love them—and I'm the Doctor. That means I'm a genius. Absolutely brilliant. So how about you make it easier for yourself and just toddle on off to do whatever it is you usually do while Jack and I leave. And I suggest you do it quickly before you discover just what happens when you shoot someone I care about."

Owen does his best to appear angry, but the Doctor is too furious for it to even register. "I'm not afraid of you, Doctor."

"Except that I think you are," he taunts, his voice as low and menacing as he can manage. He stalks up to the smaller man, glaring down at him. "Because you know what I'm capable of. I have no doubt that it was Torchwood that cleaned up the splat the Sycorax leader made in the middle of London. You do have my hand, after all. Remind me to ask Jack why he has my hand in a jar later. That is, by far, the strangest thing a companion has ever done. Or at least the strangest thing that I know of. Peri used to keep a few odd things in her room... So did Ace now that I think of it. Okay, so probably all of them had their oddities which is likely why they end up traveling with me. Any sane person—"

He is quite prepared to go on talking, but the tranquilizer has apparently worn off because Jack's just shot his troublesome employee. Nothing fatal, but he definitely won't be reaching for anything off the top shelf for the next little while. Not quite what he'd like to see done the treacherous boy, but it'll give him and Jack ample time to get out of Torchwood.

Spinning about on his heels, he hurries back towards the staircase where Jack is struggling to pull himself upright. As he does he sees Ianto lying crumpled on the other side of the hatch that leads to Jack's bedroom, tranquilizer dart sticking out of his shoulder.

"Determined little bugger," he grunts as he heaves Jack into a more upright position. "Just what kind of recruitment system does Torchwood have?"

"You saw how they recruited me," Jack wheezes, rubbing absently at his chest.

* * *

His insides are feeling as though they've turned liquid and are about to seep out. He's died, been shot, and now knocked out with a tranq gun in a relatively short amount of time. He'd love nothing more than to simply go back to the TARDIS, have the Doctor take them somewhere relaxing and sleep for a week. A month if he can talk the Doctor into joining him. The only reason he hasn't done that yet is because he's waiting for Ianto to wake up. Owen's locked up in a containment cell, ranting and raving, and generally making a fool of himself, while Gwen and Tosh hover about and do their best not to be noticed.

"Found anything useful in there yet?" Jack asks, glancing towards the Doctor who's busily searching through the files he's squirreled away over the years.

The Doctor glances up briefly, staring at him over the rims of his glasses. When he'd first pulled them out of an inside pocket of his coat, Jack'd felt a thrill run through him. Of all the things that'd turned him on over the years, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses had never been on that list. But combined with the pin-stripe suit, wild hair and broad grin, the glasses had somehow made the Doctor look sexy as hell. Of course, that could just as easily be the tranquilizer affecting him.

"Nothing that'll tell me how to reverse what the Vortex did to you," the Doctor grumbles, running his right hand through his hair which only makes it stand up even more. "Just enough to make me wish I'd let that damn werewolf eat Queen Victoria. Well, no. That's a bit harsh. She was only doing what she thought was best for the country, but Torchwood has been nothing but a nuisance."

"Torchwood does have its good points," Jack points out, shifting out a bit in his chair.

The Doctor arches an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Name one."

"It keeps me amused," Jack shrugs, knowing that he'll never be able to convince the Doctor of Torchwood's usefulness. "When you can't die, keeping yourself amused is the best option. Something I have a feeling you know all about."

"Maybe a touch," the Doctor concedes. "So can we leave yet? I'll be able to decipher these files better in the TARDIS. Besides, I'd rather not stay here longer than I have to. I've had nothing but bad experiences with Torchwood."

"I just want to make sure Ianto's all right. He's a good man and it's my fault Owen shot him," Jack explains, shifting about uncomfortably in his chair.

Leaving the files be, the Doctor crosses over to sit on the edge of Jack's desk. He cards his fingers through Jack's hair, leaning forward to touch his forehead to Jack's. "You heard that Tosh girl, Ianto will be fine. It was just a tranquilizer dart. Few hours rest and he'll be good to go. Can't say the same for us if we stick around here too long. And I don't know about you, but I don't fancy being experimented on."

"This is my operation, Doc, I can promise you we won't get experimented on."

Neither of them mentions the fact that they had both nearly been experimented on not very long ago. If Owen'd had it his way the Doctor would have been Torchwood's new lab rat and he'd have been strapped into the Cyberman conversion unit that he really needs to have dismantled.

To distract the Doctor a bit, he tilts his face up slightly so that his lips brush against the other man's. He's still getting used to the fact that the Doctor is returning his kisses, even initiating a few of them. The Doctor he knew would have much rather shoved needles under his fingernails or gone shopping with Rose than initiated anything intimate.

A quiet cough from the doorway brings an end to the kiss. Jack sits back with a sigh, ready to make a few caustic remarks to whoever decided to interrupt them, but stops when he sees Ianto standing there. The Welshman looks quite rumpled and still a bit groggy, but Jack is relieved to see him up.

"Ianto! How are you feeling?" Jack asks, leaning back a bit so he can see the other man better. He doesn't take his hand off the Doctor's hip, though.

Ianto ducks his head down briefly before stepping into his office. "Could do with a few more hours of sleep, but otherwise all right."

"Good. Glad to hear it," Jack says earnestly. "I would have filleted Owen myself otherwise."

"No need for that," Ianto says quietly.

* * *

It is impossible not to see the love between Jack and the Doctor. He's always known that Jack's heart belongs to this enigmatic man that he would only talk about after several beers, but he'd never thought to actually meet the man. The alien. And though he doesn't quite know what to make of the Doctor, Ianto's glad that he finally came for Jack because this is the first time he can recall seeing Jack content.

"Ianto!" Jack calls, leaning back from the Doctor slightly. Not too far, though. Jack keeps his hand on the Doctor, always touching him. "How are you feeling?"

He has to remind himself once again that Jack is happy. That's what is important. "Could do with a few more hours of sleep, but otherwise all right."

"Good. Glad to hear it," Jack tells him, a wide smile on his face. "I would have filleted Owen myself otherwise."

Ianto shakes his head briefly. "No need for that."

"Yes, Ianto, there would have been," Jack insists, finally moving away from the Doctor. "And before I leave I'm going to write to the queen insisting that Owen be removed from Torchwood. He'll turn into another Yvonne Hartman if he's left in charge."

The Doctor's features darken at the mention of Torchwood One's former director. Ianto doesn't know the full details, but he knows the Doctor lost someone very dear to him at Canary Wharf—same as Ianto did himself—and all because Yvonne Hartman had become overzealous. She played with things that she didn't understand and as a result hundreds of people died. Innocent people.

"So until further notice, you're in charge, Ianto."

That wasn't what he had been expecting. If anyone was to be given the reigns of Torchwood he would have thought it would be Tosh. Maybe even Gwen. But he was just the one who fetched coffee and kept things in order. That is hardly a prerequisite for running the Hub. He's honoured, though, that Jack has so much faith in his abilities and hopes that he won't make Jack regret his decision.

* * *

It's nearly an hour later when they're finally back on the TARDIS. As soon as both he and Jack are on board and the doors are locked he takes them back into the Time Vortex. He wants to be as far from Cardiff and from Torchwood as possible. Before they dematerialize completely, though, he sends out a computer virus that destroys any and all files that Torchwood has on him. Any mention of him and the TARDIS are erased from Torchwood's archives. To make completely sure he'd brought his hand with them. He'll just shove it in a cupboard somewhere until he can figure out what to do with it. It would certainly make an interesting centerpiece if they had a dining table.

"If it's all the same to you, how about we wait till tomorrow to deal with those files," Jack yawns, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He does his best to look put upon, but he can see how exhausted Jack is. "If we must. You're the one with the wonky DNA so it's up to you."

"So long as you're coming with me, now's a good time."

And while there's a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminding him why such things are a bad idea, at the moment he can't think of one reason to refuse the offer. Especially not when Jack flashes him a rather tired version of his broad grin. There is nothing but honesty in the expression and he can't help but return it. The simple fact that he is Jack is reason enough to follow. For all that he hadn't trusted Jack when they'd first met, by the time they'd been separated on the Game Station he'd loved the other man. Jack is very good at hiding behind false cheer, but when you know where to look you can see his real emotions blazoned quite clearly. And though he is doing his best to hide it, he can see how troubled Jack still is about being abandoned on Satellite Five. There's plenty of time to set that right, though, now that Jack is with him once again.

Rather than answering the invitation vocally, he sets the controls so that the TARDIS drifts about in the Time Vortex then reaches a hand out towards Jack.

There is no hesitation.

Fingers twisted together they venture deeper into the TARDIS.

"So, Doctor, how big is your bed?"


End file.
